


Squandered My Resistance

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boxing, Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Mugging, Pining, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-15 06:45:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1295356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Combeferre gets mugged, Grantaire gives him boxing lessons and Enjolras finds himself taking a lot of cold showers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Squandered My Resistance

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Simon & Garfunkel's 'The Boxer', which may be one of the most Grantaire songs of all time.
> 
> Usual disclaimer: I own nothing but my typos.

There were few things in the world that made Enjolras’s blood boil beyond the point where he could properly articulate what he was thinking or feeling, where he could properly plan. The oppression of his fellow human beings, though despicable, was something that he knew would be better served with careful coordination, so he had trained himself to not lose it at every petty injustice that he saw (his training admittedly still needed work, but he’d at least gotten to the point where he would only yell at strangers for five minutes straight instead of pursuing them down the streets telling them why they were wrong for an hour or more).

However, nothing could have calmed Enjolras when Combeferre came home late from work one night with a black eye and a broken nose because he had been mugged. That night, it had taken all of Enjolras’s self control — and a broken bit of drywall in his bedroom the approximate size and shape of Enjolras’s fist — to not go after the mugger.

But even that was nothing compared to the way Enjolras’s blood heated when, at Bahorel’s suggestion, Grantaire came over a few days later to teach Combeferre to box in part for self-defense and in part just to build up upper-body strength. Enjolras came home from work to find Grantaire in his living room, shirtless, a thin layer of sweat shining on his surprisingly defined muscles.

Enjolras was pretty sure his blood had never been that heated, and had promptly excused himself to take a shower — a very,  _very_  cold shower.

He told himself it was just because he hadn’t been expecting it. After all, he knew Grantaire was a boxer, knew that strong, well-defined arm muscles were probably a part of that, and he had known that Grantaire had tattoos, but to have it unexpectedly sprung on him like that, well, that was a different story. His reaction, such as it was, was perfectly valid.

Or so he tried to explain to a thoroughly amused Combeferre the next day while he carefully tried to hint that Combeferre should perhaps warn him when there were shirtless men in their living room. “There weren’t shirtless men in our living room,” Combeferre replied blithely, his smile just a little too wide and understanding for Enjolras’s liking. “There was Grantaire.”

“You know what I mean,” Enjolras snapped, his face flushing bright red for the second time in twelve hours. “Just…let me know the next time you have company over, ok? I’ll give you two…some alone time.”

Combeferre sipped from his cup of coffee and raised an eyebrow at Enjolras. “That makes it sound like Grantaire and I are having sex.” If possible, Enjolras’s face flushed even redder, especially when Combeferre added nonchalantly, “We’re not, in case you were interested.”

Enjolras let out a particularly undignified sound that he hastily turned into a squawked, “I know that!” He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “I just meant that the sounds of you, uh, boxing, were disruptive and I would like a heads-up.”

“Still sounds like you think we’re having sex.” Combeferre shrugged and told Enjolras unconcernedly, “Well, Grantaire’s probably going to be coming back a few nights a week. Boxing is actually kind of fun and he said it’s easier to teach me the basics here than at the gym, so…”

Enjolras groaned and put his head down on the table. “It’s fine,” he said, his voice muffled against the table. “Totally fine.”

Combeferre rolled his eyes and patted the top of Enjolras’s head affectionately. “In good news, with as many cold showers as you’re going to be taking, we’ll probably save on the hot water bill this month.”

Lifting his head, Enjolras glared at Combeferre and said frostily, “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

"Of course you don’t," Combeferre agreed as he stood. "Well, if it distracts you that much, you can always go to the library to get work done."

Enjolras stared at him as he walked away. “That’s not the point!” he called after him, because it wasn’t. Was it? No. He’d had a point, or so he thought.

But now, his only thoughts were of Grantaire shirtless in his apartment again, and  _that_  was distracting. So distracting that he was almost late to work.

* * *

 

Enjolras ended up taking twelve cold showers over the next month.

As Combeferre predicted, their hot water bill was significantly less than normal.

* * *

 

It wasn’t just that Grantaire was unexpectedly attractive — though maybe unexpected wasn’t quite the right word to use, since Enjolras hadn’t expected him to be unattractive either. Surprisingly, maybe? But the surprising part was mostly that Enjolras noticed it, noticed the ripple of his muscles under his ruddy, flushed skin, noticed the artistic tattoos that swirled in black and colors down his arms, across his back and even peeking onto his chest.

No, what it really came down to was the fact that Grantaire was  _good_. Even while teaching Combeferre, who wasn’t exactly the athletic type, it was clear that Grantaire had skill at boxing, had an easy grace as he threw and blocked punches, and was a natural teacher to boot.

That more than anything left Enjolras feeling flushed and warm, as if his skin was suddenly a size too small for his body while his heart was suddenly a size too big for his chest. It was a feeling he had never felt before and he simultaneously wanted it to go away and never wanted it to leave.

One day, when he got back to their apartment, Combeferre was not there. Grantaire, however, was, flipping channels on their TV. “It’s you,” Enjolras said in lieu of greeting, stopping in the doorway, his airways constricting, and he wondered wildly if it was possible to have person-induced asthma (he’d have to ask Joly).

Grantaire turned the TV off and stood, and for a second Enjolras was saddened by the fact that he was wearing a shirt. “Yeah, Combeferre said I could let myself in. He’s running late.”

“Right,” Enjolras said, since he seemed incapable of forming more than monosyllabic words. “Good.”

For a moment, Grantaire looked like he wanted to say something, though instead he gave Enjolras a crooked smile and asked, “You want to box a little until Combeferre gets here?”

Enjolras eyed Grantaire’s boxing gloves on the couch. “I don’t really, uh, do that. So much. I mean, I don’t know how.”

“It’s easy,” Grantaire said, taking off his shirt. “Here.”

He threw Combeferre’s gloves to Enjolras, who was so busy staring that he didn’t see the gloves until they literally hit him in the face. “Shit,” he swore, turning bright red and stooping to pick them up. He looked up to see Grantaire laughing at him and scowled.

“Sorry, sorry,” Grantaire said quickly. He put his own gloves on and held his hands up. “We gonna do this, or…?”

Enjolras glanced down at the gloves in his hands and set them down. “How about we, uh, talk. Instead. Or something.”

Grantaire shrugged and pulled his gloves off. “Whatever you want to do.” He raised an eyebrow at Enjolras and crossed his arms in front of his bare chest. “What did you want to talk about?”

For a moment, Enjolras hesitated. Then he crossed to Grantaire and kissed him. Grantaire made a noise of protest and Enjolras instantly backed away as if burned. “Sorry!” he gasped, eyes wide. “Sorry, I didn’t—”

“Why in the world would you apologize for that?” Grantaire croaked, his eyes wide as well. “I’ve been wanting you to do that for  _years_. I just…did you mean to do that?”

Enjolras stared at him. “What, do you think I accidentally stumbled into your lips?” he asked incredulously. Grantaire blushed and shook his head slightly, and Enjolras bit his lip, trying to decide how to phrase it. “I kissed you.”

Grantaire blinked at him. “Yeah, I got that. What I don’t understand is why.”

“Well, the why seems kind of obvious, doesn’t it?” Enjolras asked, a little desperately. When Grantaire didn’t answer, Enjolras blushed and said, “I’ve…ever since you started teaching Combeferre to box, I mean…you’re  _good_ , Grantaire. You’re really good. And I didn’t notice that before, but now, well…”

To his surprise, Grantaire didn’t smile at this. Instead, he asked, his voice light, even playful, but with a dark look in his eyes, “What, so suddenly I’m worthy of your attention because I’m good at something?”

Enjolras frowned. “What? No! You’ve always been worthy of my attention. I don’t know if you noticed, but I spend half of my time at our meetings talking and debating with you, which is more attention than anyone else gets.”

Grantaire smiled slightly. “Oh, yeah. Didn’t think about that.” He cocked his head. “So then what is it?”

“This, the boxing…this has, uh, brought to light other aspects of my attention that I haven’t really, well, that is — that I haven’t really given to, um, anyone?” Grantaire was staring at him as if he’d grown a second head and Enjolras blushed, talking even faster as he tried to dig himself out of the hole he’d dug for himself. “Which is to say that there hasn’t really been anyone — I mean, there are plenty of worthy people, because worth doesn’t have anything to do with it, and, um, I mean it’s not just attractiveness, though that’s definitely part of it, but it’s a lot more than that, it’s sort of a combination of everything? Like everything from before and then this, it just—”

Grantaire reached up to place his fingers over Enjolras’s mouth, effectively cutting him off. “Normally, I’d encourage you to use your words,” Grantaire said, uncharacteristically gentle. “But in this case, I’d say try to limit yourself to a few words at most.”

Enjolras took a deep breath, smiling against Grantaire’s fingers. Then he said slowly, “You’re intelligent, and incredibly hot, and an excellent boxer, and I like you. I’ve liked you since before the boxing, I just didn’t know it.”

“See?” Grantaire said quietly, his expression unreadable. “Was that so difficult?”

Without warning, he closed the space between them and kissed Enjolras soundly, pressing Enjolras against the wall. Enjolras kissed him back almost desperately, finally running his hands across the tattoos and muscles he’d been admiring for so long. “How set are you on boxing with Combeferre tonight?” Enjolras asked breathlessly.

Grantaire pretended to hesitate but then laughed as Enjolras made a desperate noise in the back of his throat. “I’m thinking some kind of other exercise is in order,” Grantaire murmured.

Enjolras laughed as well, kissing Grantaire for a long moment before remarking, “Don’t you mean ‘sexercise’?”

Grantaire made a face like he wanted to both laugh and cry at once. “You are never allowed to use the word ‘sexercise’ again. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” Enjolras said with a grin, though he added, “Though I heard Courfeyrac say that once.”

Rolling his eyes, Grantaire grabbed Enjolras’s hand and pulled him towards the bedroom. “Yeah, also, in the future, if Courfeyrac says or does it, you probably shouldn’t.”

“Not even all the sex tips he’s given me over the years?” Enjolras asked innocently, grinning when Grantaire made whimpering noise. “That’s what I thought.”

Grantaire pushed him against the door and kissed him then. “How about we stop talking about Courfeyrac?” he suggested, a little breathlessly. “In fact, how about we stop talking at all?”

Enjolras grinned and tugged him into the bedroom. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

* * *

 

The next morning, Combeferre barely even glanced up from the newspaper as Grantaire stumbled into the kitchen in search of coffee, though he did say cheerfully, “I hope you have a good excuse for missing my boxing lesson last night.”

Grantaire snorted as he grabbed a mug and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Dude. I think I have the best excuse I can think of. Besides, I hardly need excuses anymore, do I?”

At that, Combeferre did look up, smirking, and held his hand up for a high-five, which Grantaire gave him after only slightly rolling his eyes. “I told you it would work,” he said smugly, and now Grantaire really did roll his eyes. “And now you owe me.”

“I’ve been giving you free boxing lessons for the past few weeks,” Grantaire pointed out. “If that doesn’t count as payment…” Combeferre raised an eyebrow and Grantaire sighed. “Fine. I owe you. And you were right. Happy?”

Combeferre smiled sweetly and plucked the coffee out of Grantaire’s hands, taking a sip. “Of course. I get to say I told you so.” Enjolras called sleepily from the bedroom for Grantaire, and Combeferre handed the coffee back to him. “Your lover calls.” Grantaire blushed but grinned, giving Combeferre one more high-five before heading back to Enjolras’s bedroom, flipping Combeferre off as he called one last time, “I told you so!”


End file.
